


Must be Magic

by i_am_girlfriday



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Body Image, Gen, Post-Nogitsune
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-07
Updated: 2014-07-07
Packaged: 2018-02-07 19:58:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1911825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_am_girlfriday/pseuds/i_am_girlfriday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When did Stiles turn into such a babe?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Must be Magic

**Author's Note:**

  * For [coffeeinallcaps](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeeinallcaps/gifts).



> Originally posted on my [tumblr](http://moonwasours.tumblr.com/post/90980724670/sweaty-stiles-mmmmmmmmmmmmmmm-damn-he-looks-so-good) in response to an ask.

Stiles has always been a naturally wiry kind of guy, lean but not skinny. When all the other guys were busy bulking up in the weight room during freshman year, Stiles was too intimidated to join them. Machines are complicated and he had no idea how much he could lift so he never knew which weights to choose.

And back before Scott was a werewolf, he had asthma and he couldn’t do a lot of the stuff other kids could do. So Stiles kept him company on the bench during lacrosse or they hung out under the shady trees while everyone ran timed miles during PE. For a long time they just slacked off, until right before lacrosse season in their sophomore year. Scott decided that _damn his asthma_ , he’d do what he could to make first line. They stopped goofing off during PE. They started off with pushups and sit-ups, doing them until their shoulders and cores burned.

There was a difference in Scott right away, muscle definition where there wasn’t any before. But it took a lot longer for changes to show in Stiles. He was toned already, but instead of gaining muscle mass, he started getting lithe and sinewy. Another growth spurt hit mid-way through sophomore year. His body hurt not just because of his supernatural extracurriculars, but because his bones were growing, his body was changing. By the end of the school year, Stiles was still the lanky kid with questionable coordination, no matter how many pushups and sit-ups he did.

Over the summer, after everything that happened with Jackson, after Boyd and Erica disappeared, after Stiles’ was able to forget the humiliation of an old man beating him, he decided he wanted to feel stronger. The weight room was less intimidating because being made fun of wasn’t as terrifying as being weak, human, and fragile. Sometimes Danny worked out too and gave him pointers. Sometimes Scott came by on his break from summer school and spotted him. Between summer school, working at Deaton’s, and pining after Allison, Scott’s schedule was pretty booked. So Stiles pretty much just worked out alone. He read a book at the library about weight and circuit training. He researched how each machine works, which muscle groups get targeted by each one, and when he didn’t understand something he Googled it. He’d probably never be comfortable shirtless in front of people, but he’d never been shy about flexing his Google-Fu muscles.

Stiles also started running around the track. One day Coach Finstock persuaded him to join the cross country team. Then he started running around town with the team, cutting through the preserve, down Main past the Sheriff’s Station, looping through the industrial part of Beacon Hills, and then back to the high school. It’s not a walk down memory lane, more like a terrifying jaunt past hideous crime scenes and places where he almost lost his life (but didn’t). He wasn’t the fastest on the team and his form wasn’t the best, but he was the most determined to finish. He walked when he had to, but it was less and less with every practice.

When school started up again he was glad he hadn’t let himself go soft. Shit was as crazy as ever with the Alpha Pack in town and a new serial murderer. Even when all the teenage werewolves joined the cross country team, Stiles didn’t get too embarrassed about his time or rank on the team. He’d stopped comparing himself and his body to theirs finally. It felt like progress. And honestly, he didn’t really have time to be self-conscious with all the death and dismemberment going on around him.

Time got blurry when the nogitsune took over. His body wasn’t his, and his mind - his brain - was riddled with dark foreboding patches that spelled his early death. When he returned to his body, it felt different, wrong somehow, and he didn’t know what to do to make it right. He was a medical mystery too, one his doctors would never solve. He was going to be okay, he was going to live (and he’d have to live with the knowledge that some were gone forever).

Nothing felt right, nothing felt normal. Some days Stiles felt nothing at all, just a void, a dark and endless hole where his heart once beat. Stiles wanted to feel something. He wanted to feel an ache, a burn, the way his lungs would wring out carbon dioxide after inhaling every breath that somehow felt like it could be his last. So he went back to the track. He ran until his muscles were warm, his breath was labored, and sweat trickled from his brow down the back of his shirt to the mark on his shoulder blade that still hadn’t quite faded. He counted repetitions on each machine in the weight room until his limbs felt like jelly, his hands too useless to hurt himself or anyone else. He pounded out pushups and sit-ups when he woke up in the morning, because sweating was better than crying, and panting was better than hyperventilating. He ran miles and miles around town visiting each ghost he knew lingered there, and if he felt compelled to speak to them, he pushed himself harder, faster, until he couldn’t hold a conversation even if he wanted.

***

It’s lacrosse season again somehow. Scott will be first line, and Stiles doesn’t really care where he lands in the lineup. He doesn’t expect to play. He’s still weak and human (maybe less than), but now he’s broken and brittle too. Stiles never looks in mirrors anymore. He doesn’t recognize himself anyway.

Stiles doesn’t notice the way his too big clothes aren’t that big anymore. He doesn’t realize that his sinewy muscles have finally settled on his tall frame. He doesn’t hear the comments about his shoulder to waist ratio, and wouldn’t know what that means even if he was listening. He isn’t sure why Lydia and Kira roll up his sleeves. He has no idea why Scott tells him his ass isn’t so bad either. He can’t fathom why Malia is obsessed with his back. He didn’t catch Danny trip in the weight room when Stiles used the hem of his shirt to wipe up the sweat dripping from his chin. He definitely imagined the way young Derek’s eyes glowed when he shoved Stiles up against the bedroom door.

It takes a lot longer than it should for him to put the pieces together. Stiles has no idea, and no one else does either, when he became such a babe. And when Stiles considers all the possibilities, he’s pretty sure his new physique must be the result of _magic_. It’s the only logical explanation.

**Author's Note:**

> Say hello to me on [tumblr](http://moonwasours.tumblr.com/)...


End file.
